


Vague

by applecameron



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Face-Fucking, M/M, Mild BDSM, Top Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 17:45:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6249478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applecameron/pseuds/applecameron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur knows what's needed on those occasions Eames returns after being too many people for too long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vague

Arthur always notices when Eames comes in - to their apartment, their hotel room, wherever - with that vague look in his eyes.  It's the look he gets when he's spent too much time being someone else, for too long.  When he looks at Arthur like he sort of knows Arthur's name, but not quite.  Not really, maybe knows the label, but has lost the reality behind it.

That's when he needs to be fully reminded.

Arthur's tired, having just gotten in a day before Eames, his body is convinced he's still in Osaka, but he's not too tired for this.  Eames shuffles in, sets down his bag, and looks at Arthur with those vague eyes.  Like he doesn't know what to do next.  Sometimes Arthur thinks it's his own private limbo, this state of being between people.

"Come sit down," he directs.  Eames does, sagging into the cushions of the sofa, eyes shuttering almost immediately.  That won't do.  "Sit up straight.  Hands on your legs."  Arthur tugs him forward, pulls him, positioning him at the edge with his legs spread and Arthur standing between them.  Tosses a couple pillows behind his back for support.  

Cups Eames' face in his hands and tilts it up.  "Do you know me?"  Gives him all the time in the world to answer.  Caresses his eyebrows lightly, the bones of his cheeks, with his thumbs.  Rubs his fingers into Eames' scalp.

Eames blinks at him.   "Yes."  He says it with a question mark.  

"Breathe."  Arthur instructs, crowding closer.

Eames inhales slowly, through his nose, drawing in Arthur's scent, his cologne and the scent of his skin. And then again, nosing at his groin.  "Yes," he says finally, more confidently, meeting Arthur's gaze.

"Say my name."

"Arthur."

"Say it again."  Eames obeys.  "That's right."  Arthur tells him approvingly.  He drops a hand and undoes his slacks enough to draw out his cock.  "You want this."  It's not a question.

"Yes."

"Of course you do."  He says, gently.  "Whose cock is this?"  He brushes the sensitive tip along Eames' lower lip.

Eames gasps, his eyes widening, Arthur hitting him like a drug.  "It's Arthur's."

"That's right.  You want my taste in your mouth, don't you."  He murmurs.

Eames doesn't speak, doesn't nod, just opens his mouth to Arthur.  Who slides them together.  Eames moans in the back of his throat, eyes fluttering closed, face serene.

Arthur holds his head in position and fucks him slowly, carefully, for as long as he can.  He fucks Eames' face until the other man's hands rise up to settle over his own. 

Softly, "Put your hands back down."  

Eames shudders, obeying.  He shudders again when Arthur calls him a 'good boy' for it, the quiver culminating in a high moan in the back of his throat.  Arthur fucks him through it, then withdraws when Eames subsides.

Eames makes a low, bereft sound, and speaks.  "Arthur, please."

"That's it, you're being so good for me."  Arthur rubs again at Eames' scalp, his neck, ignoring his own ripe, wet erection bobbing in front of Eames' face.  "I'm going to fuck you now."

"Please, Arthur."

Arthur strips him, efficiently, Eames yielding to his every touch, presses him back against more cushions.  Positions Eames splayed open on the edge of the sofa, naked.  Arthur sits, mostly-clothed, on the coffee table as he works lube around and into Eames' entrance.  Works his fingers to loosen him, only pressing on his prostate once or twice in the process.  Just enough to keep Eames' cock interested and Eames sighing in pleasure.

Eames' sighs turn to moans when Arthur kneels on the floor, pushes his slacks down properly, and starts to press into him.  "That's it.  So good for me."  

Arthur fucks him slowly, the same pace he used on Eames' mouth, and tells him so.  Watches him writhe, slipping fingers into Eames' mouth for him to suck on.

Fucks him slow as long as he can, watching Eames' pleasure build and build but not crest.  Not yet.

Speaks.  "Who do you belong to?"  Punctuates the question with a long, slow, push.

Eames is panting now, eyes shut.  "I'm yours, Arthur.  I belong to you."

"Look at me."  Eames obeys, his eyes wide, no hint of vagueness now, just overwhelming pleasure and devotion.  "Say it.  Name what's mine."

"Eames.  Arthur's Eames.  Oh, god, yes."

Arthur fucks him through his orgasm and after until he can't stand it himself, coming in Eames, both of them groaning at the feeling of wet heat, of Arthur's come marking him inside, and no one else.


End file.
